The art of manipulation is a subtle dance, one that I had mastered to perfection. As I sat across from William in our usual café, I marveled at how easily he fell into the web I had spun around him. We were long divorced, but our clandestine meetings had become my stage, and he, the unwitting actor in my grand performance.
“William,” I purred, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our past a lot lately.”
His brows furrowed in curiosity. “Our past? What’s there to think about?”
I concealed my smirk behind a sip of coffee. “The choices we made, the paths we didn’t take. You had such grand ambitions back then. Do you ever regret leaving it all behind?”
His eyes bore into mine, and I could see the uncertainty flicker. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “but life
